How It Needs To Be
by 14Checker
Summary: Oneshot. "This wasn't about love. It was barely about lust. This was about a need I couldn't name; a hunger so strong that, unsatiated, it would drive us both mad." I don't know whether to say this is strong T or light M. Either way, you've been warned.


**From Chex:** A short oneshot from Butch's POV. Enjoy.

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><p>Blood.<p>

That was all I could see.

Her blood. My blood. Did it matter? It covered my face and stung my eyes. I wiped it away with tight fists, but more flooded down my face from a gash, already healing, on my head. My hair was soaked with it. My clothes were stained with it. The smell of it heightened my senses, and something tore inside of me.

_Where is she?_

My thought was answered my the creaking of a steel pipe. I turned, too late, to see her folding it between her hands and toss it at me like a boomerang. It hit my side, the bend ensnaring me, and lodged into the side of a deteriorating building. I was stuck between it. "Aren't we a little old for toys, Buttercup?" I smirked at her. Encasing my arm in blade of pure energy, I cut through the metal like butter.

She rushed at me, a snarl on her face, her hand raised to punch teeth out. I spun away and kicked her hard in the abdomen, sending her flying through the wall of a building across the street. I watched the wall crumble away, large chunks falling on top of her. With a cry of rage and a burst of green light, she was on her feet again in seconds.

I stared as she emerged from a cloud of dust and debris. Her skin was pattered brightly in all shades of black, blue, and red. Her clothes hung off her in tatters. Sharp, defined muscles were stretched taut in her bare arms. The look of pure contempt on her face was emphasized by the wild blaze of green fire in her eyes. She growled, stalking towards me, and I nearly lost all control. She looked worn and ragged and furious...and I _loved_ it. Nothing and no one turned me on like this but her. I felt a dulled fire flame to life somewhere deep inside. My body shook with a building energy. I needed a release.

I launched myself at her like a bullet. Her arms went up to brace herself. She gritted her teeth in pain as I slammed her against what remained standing of the wall she'd just broken through. Her head bounced off of the cinder, leaving it cracked and bloody. For a moment, we just stared at each other. Her eyes narrowed, challenging me to take the next step. We both knew I couldn't contain myself. My eyes fixed onto a bleeding cut on her collar bone, watching mesmerized as a drop of blood slid down slowly over her skin, mixing with sweat. The single pinkish drop slid down her chest, leaving a wet trail between her cleavage.

I lost it.

My hands gripping her shoulders, I pressed her harder against the wall; as hard as I could without breaking it. I leaned forward and licked at her wound, savoring the salty taste of her blood and sweat. Moving farther up her neck, I started biting, breaking the skin with each rough kiss and leaving a trail of teeth marks on both sides. She made a strangled noise, trying to remain as quiet as possible. She knew what I wanted.

"Scream," I whispered in her ear.

Her jaw set and she fixed me with a defiant look. I put my thumb against her wound, pressing into the raw flesh, applying more pressure with each passing second. Her eyes squeezed shut.

"Scream."

Her arms went around me. I could feel her nails digging into my back. _God_, that felt good.

Growing impatient, I took my hand away from her wound and shoved it up her shirt. Feeling the fabric of a bra, I tore it out from under her shirt. My hand cupped her soft breast, one of the only things soft about her, and squeezed hard. She cried out in pain. "That's better," I purred. The sound of her screaming drove me insane. I squeezed harder until it was all I could hear.

Then a searing pain in my neck pushed me away from her. Her eyes burned red with the laser she'd just fired. She slammed into me, her hands going around my neck. I fell to the ground with her on top of me. The asphalt ground into my back, tearing the skin and leaving it tender. Her hands closed around my throat, squeezing me like I had her, until the world went fuzzy around the edges.

Just when I realized I couldn't take anymore, she stopped. Her hands were now busy tearing away the fabric of my shirt, raking over the muscles of my chest. I groaned as she straddled me, rubbing her hips roughly against mine. It had been coming to this more often. Not long ago, I realized I liked more than just the sound and sight of her in pain. I liked the way her body felt on mine; sweaty and hard and soft and hot and wet and everything I could ever imagine wanting. Everything I couldn't get in any other girl because all other girls were too soft, too fragile, too easily hurt and killed.

And she needed this too. We were so much alike sometimes I couldn't tell her eyes from mine. I would look into them and see the same desire burning brightly ever time we were near each other. The same way she was the only girl that could do this for me, I was the only guy that could do this for her. There was no pleasure without this pain, and who but me could hurt her like this?

And despite that, this had nothing to do with us. What I wanted had nothing to do with her, and I knew the same was true for what she wanted. She could've been anyone. She could've looked like anyone or anything. She could have been a blonde or brunette, short or tall, pale or tan, anything in the world. As long as she could give me _this_, I would've felt the same way.

Which isn't to say there are _feelings_ involved. There is no love, no caring, no consideration in what we do. We are each other's toys, tools, things to be used to fulfill a need or want, then forgotten, and picked up again whenever we feel like it. This wasn't about love. It was barely about lust. This was about a need I couldn't name; a hunger so strong that, unsatiated, it would drive us both mad.

And now, laying here, I fed that hunger in every possible way. My hands explored her, making myself familiar with every curve, every muscle, every inch of skin that covered her body. Feeling her wounds, cuts, bruises; I imagined for a moment what we'd both look like if our bodies didn't heal these things the way they did. If we healed like normal humans, how misshapen would we be? I imagined the scars that would decorate our bodies. The burn marks, the never-ending bruises. It would be beautiful.

Our clothes were scattered in dirty heaps in the street. Flipping her over, I pressed her into the ground and began leaving my mark. She screamed and cursed and bucked under me as I used my laser vision to burn my name into her back. This too would heal. Eventually. But until then, the pain would remain long after we'd leave each other. Any pressure on it would burn, the lightest touch would be torture. And the scars would remain long after that pain stopped.

Even though she cried out now, I knew she'd welcome it later.

Then, too soon, her sister called. My brothers had had their fun, apparently. They wouldn't wait for me, but her sisters would be looking for her, to make sure she'd survived our 'battle'.

The funny thing was, that despite what we do to each other, she's safest with me. Out of all the monsters, villains, and general dangers she would ever come across, _I _was her best bet. Because I didn't want her dead. No matter what my brother's intentions were, no matter what orders Brick gave me, no matter how many times we played this game, it would never be at the cost of her life. Yes, I wanted her bruised, broken, and bleeding. But I wanted her _here._ I wanted her alive. I_ needed_ her to exist.

She stood and put on what remained of her clothes. I did the same, watching her out of the corner of my eye and feeling satisfied when I saw her wince as she put on her shirt. Her name was called again from a distance. Above us, a pink and blue streak flew overhead. She looked at me, nodding slightly. The fire in her eyes was stilled; she was satisfied for now.

As she took off into the sky, we didn't exchange any words. There wasn't a need to. I knew she'd be back soon. This fight would repeat itself like all the others before it, our hungers growing with each passing day. Each time we met it was more intense. Part of me knew that eventually it would be too much. Eventually, there would be one blow too many. Eventually, too much blood would be lost. Eventually, the wounds wouldn't heal.

But I wasn't worried. If I was going to die one day anyway, I couldn't think of a better way to go. And who knows? Maybe it won't come to that. One day we might find a balance. One day we might have new needs and hungers. One day we might mean something to each other. Or, who knows? One day we might both find something better and forget about each other entirely.

But for now, this is how it needs to be.

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><p><strong>From Chex:<strong> Hunh. Well, I guess I'm proud of myself now that that's finally out of my head. No real thoughts on it though. Feedback?


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